


A Question of Tradition

by Brumeier



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demonic Possession, Demons, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Muthrig is a demon with ideas. The only problem is getting anyone to listen to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Tradition

“I just don’t understand the point of demon possession,” Muthrig said. He’d just come off a lengthy job and was enjoying a soak in the lava pool with his friend Baecefus. The two of them hung out often between assignments, sharing stories of old times or on-the-job mishaps.

“Better not let Him hear you say that.” Baecefus squinted his shimmering yellow eyes and studied Muthrig’s face. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

Muthrig frowned, his normally snarling mouth twisting even more. “All I’m saying is that I just don’t get why we keep doing it. You haven’t been up top as much as I have, you don’t realize how really shitty the world is today. Believe me, we’re at no loss for souls down here. Possession is just so antiquated.”

“It’s been a tradition since the first days.”

“So what?” Muthrig snorted, sinking up to his pointed chin in the bubbling lava. “Just because it worked back then doesn’t mean it’s working now. I just see it as a colossal waste of time.”

“It’s the only way to get innocents. You know that.” Baecefus shook his head, his shaggy black hair swinging. “Can’t we just relax? I’m tired of talking about work.”

“I am relaxed. And I don’t see what the big deal is about innocents anyway. We’ve already got more down here than we can handle, as you should know, and I think my time would be better spent down here than up there.”

“What’s the big deal?” Baecefus asked. “So you hang out for a while, then you either get cast out or come back with a soul. Seems like a cushy deal to me. You should try torturing these humans for a while, you’d be grateful for what you have. They can really tire you out.”

Muthrig waved his hand in dismissal. “Possession isn’t that easy anymore. Sure, I might get cast out by some Bible-spouting priest, but these days I’m more likely to get drugged up and sent to an institution. Humans have gotten all scientific on possession; they have names for it now like schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder. Do you have any idea how hard it is to depart a body that’s flying high on drugs? I’m telling you, it totally sucks.”

Baecefus sighed and scratched one of his horns. “So what would you rather do?”

“Well, I was thinking.” Muthrig sat up straighter, lava oozing down his mahogany-colored skin. “If we go through all the trouble of possessing someone, why not take them out and really accomplish something? The fight for good and evil over one body is fine, sure, but I say we stop waiting around for the priests and get out amongst the people. Get our foot in the door with politics and big business. I’m telling you, Baecefus, the only way to dominate the world these days is either as a politician or a movie star.”

“The Boss would never go for that. You know he likes to work more behind-the-scenes.”

“Well, that’s the trouble. We’re too subtle. Humans are forgetting all about us, and that can only hurt us in the end. We need to improve our image.”

Baecefus laughed, the sound of it echoing off the stone walls. “You want to improve our public relations? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding. We need to put the fear of Hell back in the world. We send more people scurrying to save their souls, then there’s more of a challenge in snagging the innocent ones. Puts the fun back into it, you know?”

“You’re crazy.” Baecefus climbed out of the pool and stretched. Lava puddled at his feet, hissing on the stone floor. “If you were really serious about all of this, you’d talk to the Boss about it.”

“Yeah, well, you know how resistant to change He is.” Muthrig sighed, sinking back down into the lava.

“I can’t help you there. Anyway, I have a quick massage and then I have a date with Craltigal. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Baecefus just shook his head and ducked out of the room, his tail swishing behind him. Muthrig dipped his head under the lava, trying to clear his mind and relax. When he surfaced, he found he’d been joined in the pool by Forcas, president of the United Minions Association. Muthrig’s green eyes gleamed anew.

“How was your last job?” Forcas asked congenially. “Out in Ohio, was it?”

“It was a real doozy,” Muthrig said. “Hey, where do you stand on the issue of demon possession? Because I have a few ideas I’d like to bounce off you.”

“Don’t even start,” Forcas said, holding up a stubby, black-nailed finger. “Baecefus tipped me off to your latest crusade. You don’t stand a chance in Heaven of getting Him to change the possession procedure.”

“Hear me out first!” Muthrig protested.

“What’s the point? I remember that fiasco - what was it, fifty-odd years ago? – when you insisted that Carl be replaced by several younger minions, such as yourself. He’s been the only demon lover for six centuries and you were fighting to get him canned.”

“But –”

“Have you talked to any of the other possessors? You might want to do that before you decide to single-handedly reformat the department.” Forcas rubbed lava on his shoulders. “These issues have a way of snowballing. First comes possession, then you have problems with other departments. Before you know it, there will be demands for better working conditions for the torturers. Which is impossible, of course, because then you’d have to improve conditions for the tortured by default. Have you talked to Zelkar down in the ice mines? It truly is the pit of Hell and if anyone has grounds for complaint it’s her.”

“But that isn’t –”

“You wouldn’t believe the kind of stuff that comes across my desk.” Forcas waved his short arms for emphasis. “You demons seem to forget that this is Hell.”

“Just forget it,” Muthrig grumbled. He climbed out of the lava pool and shook red clumps from his wings. Forcas eyed him critically.

“Look, Muthrig. If you’re really serious about this possession thing you have to go through the right channels. Talk to the demons in your department. Get a feel for the political climate. If you can reach a consensus, come back to me and we’ll file an official suggestion.”

Muthrig nodded before leaving, his hooves clomping on the stone floor.

*o*o*o*

The Demon Possession Department – DPD – was located in a large cavern on subfloor B. The furniture was carved of black marble, except for the oversized floral sofa that one minion fell in love with while on a job; it was patched, punctured, and patched again thanks to careless demons with spikes on their wings and over-long talons. An ancient casting pool sat discarded in the corner, long-ago supplanted by a wall of television monitors and recording equipment. There were fifteen monitors in total, though just then all but five were blank. Four showed human subjects currently being possessed. The other monitor showed porn.

When Muthrig arrived fresh from his lava soak only Mammon was on duty, though most of his attention seemed to be on the sex monitor.

“How can you watch that garbage?” Muthrig asked, disgusted. Mammon grinned, his leering mouth full of fangs. On the monitor a woman was having sex with six men dressed as clowns; there was greasepaint everywhere.

“Aren’t you supposed to be relaxing for the next five days?” Mammon never turned his gaze from the monitor.

“I’m here unofficially,” Muthrig replied. He took a seat next to Mammon and watched the monitors himself for a few moments. Two teenage girls, a mother of three, and a pre-adolescent boy were all in varying stages of possession, all tracked and recorded by the DPD. In the right-hand corner of each monitor was the name of the demon at work.

“Why does Vass always take the mothers? He has some serious issues.”

“True.” Mammon’s raspy chuckle echoed in the cavern. “So why are you here, Muthrig?”

Muthrig got up and paced, his wings quivering as he went. “I was thinking about this possession thing.”

“Oh give me a break!” Mammon snorted. “Not this again.”

“I’m serious! I just talked to Forcas from the UMA. He says I need to go through the channels.”

“I can’t believe you talked to the UMA!” Mammon hissed, his attention finally taken away from the human porn on monitor five. “You know how He feels about the possession issue. You’re going to get us all in trouble.”

“I’m trying to _help_ us.”

“I don’t want any part of this,” Mammon said dismissively. “I’m not going to back you up on this one, Muthrig.”

Muthrig snarled. “Thanks for your support, Mammon. I’ll remember this.”

Mammon just waved his four-clawed hand, his back turned as Muthrig stomped out of the chamber.

*o*o*o*

Muthrig passed several demons but acknowledged none of them. He was frustrated and angry that no one could understand his vision. He had so many ideas! If he didn’t have the support of his co-workers then the UMA wouldn’t even hear any more of what he had to say.

“Why does His way have to be the only way?” he grumbled to himself.

“Muthrig! Muthrig!”

Muthrig snapped out of his dark thoughts to find a small green imp tugging at his hand. He realized two things simultaneously – first, he’d said something he shouldn’t have, and second, it had been heard. The little imp was Bilggr, one of His personal assistants.

“You have been Summoned. Now.”

Bilggr hopped on down the hall, gesturing with a stumpy arm for Muthrig to follow. There were suddenly no fellow demons to be seen, no one to cast a sympathetic look his way. That was another problem, Muthrig thought. No solidarity amongst demons. Word got out fast when trouble hit the caverns and demons made themselves scarce.

It was a long walk to subfloor K, which was taken up entirely by His offices. There were more expedient ways to get there but Bilggr had taken the long way, no doubt to increase Muthrig’s apprehension. It was generally not a good thing to be Summoned.

“Ah, Muthrig.” Surgat, His personal secretary, grinned with both mouths as Bilggr led the demon into the outer chamber. “He’s expecting you. Go right in.”

Muthrig walked to the heavy iron door indicated by Surgat’s pointing red finger. It swung open unassisted on silent hinges, revealing darkness beyond. Muthrig knew what was expected; he dropped down to the floor and crawled into the inner chamber on his belly, wings spread wide and low so they scraped along beside him. The iron door swung shut with a deep clang behind him.

“Muthrig.” His voice was impossibly deep and vibrated Muthrig’s very skin. He pressed himself to the warm stone floor, forehead down and eyes closed. “You may stand.”

Muthrig silently obeyed. He opened his eyes to find the chamber lit by red flame and bubbling pools of lava that percolated up from the floor around a large desk carved from a massive slab of stone. He sat behind the desk, larger than the largest demon, His skin like leather the color of old bricks, His horns like gleaming obsidian and longer than Muthrig’s arms.

“You seem to be unhappy, Muthrig.”

“Yes, Sir,” Muthrig replied, feeling less like a demon and more like an impling.

“You have an excellent work record. Do you like working in DPD?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then what is the problem? Speak freely.”

Muthrig dared to lift his gaze, meeting eyes that danced with live flame orange and red and blue. “It’s the possession, Sir. I think it is a waste of our efforts and could be put to better use with a few changes.”

“I see.” He tented his hands under his slab of a chin. “You want to make us more public, take us topside.”

“Yes, Sir. I think we could…”

“It is not your job to think.” He said, his voice even. “Do you doubt my ability to manage this realm?”

“No, Sir.” Muthrig cast his eyes back to the floor, his wings drooping as he realized that his cause had just died.

“I have been here since the beginning of all time, longer than any of you. I decide the changes that get made and I decide what remains as it has always been. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Fine.” He stood, towering above Muthrig. “I don’t want to lose you, Muthrig, but you must learn that our traditions are important. You won’t forget that again, will you?”

“No, Sir.”

“I have made arrangements for you. When you return I hope not to have to see you in here again. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Surgat will instruct you. Go. Now.”

Muthrig left as he had come in, crawling like a worm. He didn’t know what his punishment would be but hoped that his good record would work in his favor. Surgat awaited him, two sets of red lips pursed in a smirk.

*o*o*o*

“Marcus” got back in his car, the chill winter wind sending curls of snow in after him. It was mid-January in Saskatchewan, not the best time to be a traveling salesman. He started up the car, cranking the heater as high as it would go. He took a quick look at himself in the rearview mirror, grimacing at the sight of thinning hair brushed into a comb-over and red-rimmed, watery brown eyes.

Only two more months and his punishment would be over. Muthrig pulled his coat closer against the awkward human body that he inhabited. Two more months of selling frozen food to frozen Canadians. It seemed like an eternity.

Muthrig cursed the old traditions.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** So, I wrote this back in October 2002, filed it away, and mostly forgot about it. I don’t know why but it popped back in my head the other day and I thought maybe I’d take a chance and post it. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to writing crack, and it still really amuses me. ::grins:: Though honestly that doesn’t take too much. LOL!


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